by Malcolm Lowry

Malcolm Lowry

How like a man, is Man, who rises late
and gazes on his unwashed dinner plate
and gazes on the bottles, empty too,
all gulphed in last night’s loud
long how-do-you-do,

– Although one glass yet holds a gruesome bate –
How like to Man is this man and his fate –
still drunk and stumbling through the rusty trees
to breakfast on stale rum sardines and peas.

Last updated September 29, 2022